


The Miraculous Archives

by marvelousmsmol



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Magnus Archives AU, Multi, Recording Transcripts, Reverse Crush (Miraculous Ladybug), Slow Burn, and when i say slow burn i’m serious, rated mature for horror elements but it really isn’t that bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelousmsmol/pseuds/marvelousmsmol
Summary: From the office of Gabriel Agreste, Head of the Miraculous Institute, Paris:Marinette Dupain Cheng has been promoted to Head of the Archives. Effective immediately.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 28
Kudos: 47





	1. Transcript of Recording 0.00

**Transcript of Recording 0.00**

_– Recording begins —_

Statement of Marinette Dupain Cheng, regarding the state of the Archives upon her acceptance of the position of Head Archivist. Original statement given July 18, 2020. Recorded directly from subject.

_— Statement begins —_

**MDC:** (clearing throat) Hello... Yeah, right. Okay. This is Marinette Dupain Cheng, newly appointed Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute. I’ve worked here for three years now and I still don’t understand why they call it that. Maybe it’s because the kinds of things we research here are miraculous because they supposedly do exist, or maybe it’s because you’d have to be so miraculously stupid to believe any of these statements.

_(sighs)_

Sorry, excuse the joking. I’m not really making an official statement right now. Really, I’m just testing to see if this thing works. I’ve had to dig out a tape recorder from some dusty, old box, because apparently the microphone on my laptop doesn’t work down here. When I tried to record earlier it was just... static. It wouldn’t pick up anything at all. 

Anyway, it’s my first day on the job. I used to work in Artifact Storage, but when the old Head Archivist, Wang Fu, passed away Mr. Agreste gave the job to me. I don’t know why. I haven’t been working here that long, at least, not as long as some of the others. I’m not very adept to the kind of work done down here in the Archives. I didn’t catalogue the items in storage. That was someone else’s job. What I did was artifact restoration, since we sometimes loaned out artifacts to museums, mostly those of the occult nature, and I made sure that some of our more supposedly dangerous items remained under lock and key. I’m not the biggest believer in the supernatural, but I won’t deny that some of the stuff I looked after did make me feel... well, a little cold inside. I doubt that’s because any of the objects held any real power. I think that when your brain knows something is associated with fear and darkness, it can trick you into being wary it, no matter what you believe. 

Tomorrow, my assistants are supposed to be arriving. Three of them, actually. They all used to work in Research, according to their files, and I’m actually quite grateful I’ve been given so much help. Looking into the files of Alya Cesaire and Le Chien Kim, I’m impressed by their investigative skills, which I think will prove to be quite useful. However, I’m not so sure about the third assistant that’s been hired. Adrien Agreste being allowed to work here with no prior experience in research or library science reeks of nepotism, and they aren’t even trying to mask the scent. Still, I won’t turn my nose up just because of that. Judging by the state of the Archives, it seems that Wang Fu didn’t keep an orderly workspace, so this isn’t a job fit for four people, let alone one. I’ll take what I can get though, and, well, try my best.

_— Recording ends —_


	2. Transcript of Recording 1.01

**Transcript of Recording 1.01**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

Statement of Mireille Caquet, regarding the disappearance of her roommate. Original statement given the 19th of October, 2015. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute. 

_ \-- Statement Begins -- _

**MDC:** (reading statement) I had tried very hard to convince my parents to get me a single dorm for my first year of university. I’m a bit of a private person, and I hadn’t been sharing a room with anyone since college when my older sister moved out. I wasn’t exactly excited on move in day when I was carrying all of my things up to my double room on the top floor and had to meet the person I’d be sharing a living space with for the entire school year. Aurore was nice enough and she made an effort to be friends with me, but when it came to getting to know the others on our floor she was pretty popular among everyone else and I was... Decidedly not. 

It didn’t matter much to me that she was like by the others and I was more or less ignored, but it became somewhat of a problem when we had to pick someone from our floor to represent us to the rest of the housing unit. Those were the kinds of things I liked to be involved in. They still required interacting with other people, but they weren’t social events. Aurore decided she wanted the position too, and since the person was picked by the rest of the floor, I doubted the fact that I would win. She and I talked about it a little one night, and we both said that running against one another was nothing personal. It still felt a little personal though. 

Even after she was elected, Aurore and I continued to be friends. We had movie nights together in our room and went out for dinner on occasion when we could both afford it. I eventually started to get over the fact that she had gotten the position over me, and we settled into a pretty easy-going, albeit unlikely, friendship. I would even go so far as to call her my best friend. 

When Christmas rolled around, Aurore was leaving the city to go home. Her parents lived somewhere out in the country, so she was getting a ride with someone else on our floor who happened to live close by. Nothing all that interesting happened over break. We texted each other a few times, the usual joyeux Noel. She did text me that when she left home to drive back to the city though. That’s the only reason I know what time she left, and why I know she was so late getting back. 

I had gotten back to the dorm first. It was already pretty late, so I was going to sleep expecting her to be there when I woke up in the morning. Aurore often went out with friends and was always pretty quiet and respectful if she knew I was sleeping when she came back. That should have been the first thing that told me something was wrong. When the door flung open at about one in the morning it was still almost completely dark in the room, but there were lights on in the hall. I could make out her silhouette, sort of hunched over and propped up against the door frame. She was shaking, like I could see how much her legs were wobbling, and she was dripping wet making a huge puddle on the floor at her feet. I didn’t think much of it at the time because I could hear the rain outside hitting the roof. Aurore stepped into the room and pulled off her coat, tossing it. It hit the floor with a wet smack. I wondered how she could have gotten so soaked from walking to the car into the building. The car park for students wasn’t that far from our building. 

She shut the door, putting the room back into complete darkness, but was still moving around, probably trying to find some dry clothes. I reached over to turn on the lamp next to my bed to help give her some little, but as soon as I moved she stopped. She turned to me and even though I couldn’t see her face I just knew she was looking at me intensely. 

She said “don’t,” but it her voice was distorted, almost as if it were cracking and breaking apart. “Don’t turn on the light.”

I didn’t know what else to do, so I just went back to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Aurore was just sitting there in the middle of her bed, staring at nothing. Her skin had this sheen to it, like she was still damp from the rain. I could even see a drop of water running down her face like sweat. I asked her if she was hot, or if she felt like she had a fever, but she just shook her head. “I feel like I can’t get dry,” She said. “And, it’s so cold.”

I asked her if they had had any problems driving back last night and if Harvey, the boy she had been carpooling with who lived on our floor, had made it back okay, too. Her eyes snapped to me and flooded with life and with fear. 

“I left him there,” She said. “Oh god, it’s all my fault. I just left him there.” 

Before I could ask what she meant she left off the bed and grabbed me by the wrists. Her hands felt clammy and cold, and I wanted to rip my arms away from her. It felt so dead. So lifeless. Her face was so close to me that now I could see the small, pale lines zig zagging across her skin. They went down her neck, and from what I could see of her arms they must have reached that far, too. 

“You have to come with me,” She said. “We have to go find him.”   
  


By now I could gather what she meant. Why she had been soaked to the skin, where the new scar had come from, why she had come back so, so late. I asked her if she was injured, if she thought maybe Harvey had made it out okay and she just hadn’t seen him. Aurore said no. The amount of blood that had been coming out of the gash on his head meant he probably hadn’t moved at all after she had managed to pull him out of the damaged car and up the hill back onto the main road. 

“The guy just came out of nowhere,” She said. “Harvey didn’t see him until it was too late, and then we swerved and drove through the guardrail. The guy was still standing there when I made it up, completely unbothered like we hadn’t almost just ran him over, and that’s when it happened.”

Aurore said she had been struck by lightening not even the second after she’d met the stranger’s eye. She said that when she had woken up again, she was only a block away from our residence hall, without so much as a singed hair on her arm. There was just the scar.

I told her we’d go drive out that way and look for the wreck. I thought that someone must have found it by now. We borrowed the car of the two girls living in the room next to ours and I drove as Aurore pointed back towards the road they had been driving. It took us almost an hour before we reached the spot. We couldn’t see down the hill, but the guardrail was bent and twisted in a grotesque way, so I stopped, knowing that it must be the place. We were alone out on that road, but the smell of hot, burning asphalt wasn’t easy to ignore. 

As I stepped out of the car, it was the first thing my eyes were drawn to. There, burned into the ground, was the same lightening pattern that covered Aurore’s body, and in the center, a black scorch mark in a perfect circle. Aurore just stood there, mesmerized by the pattern, completely still. I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing or not. I wanted to comfort her, but I knew that down the hill, past the guardrail, was the car that she and Harvey had crashed last night. The ground was slippery and I almost fell as I went down the hill, but sure enough the car was still there and Harvey was still in it. I didn’t even go all the way over or open the door. The pale color of his skin was enough to tell me that we were too late. 

I ran back up the hill, pulling out my phone to call the emergency services. Aurore was still standing in the exact same spot as she had been when I left her. I called her name, but she didn’t hear me. I walked up to her, saying her name again, and I put my hand on her shoulder. I can’t really explain what happened next. It was just pain. The shock, I’m pretty sure touching her had shocked me, almost knocked me off of my feet as I screamed. It took everything in me to get my muscles to move and stumble away from her. 

Aurore turned to look at me, and she took a step forward. I stepped back, but she stepped again. It continued until she was the only to finally stop moving. The rain came out of nowhere after that. When it touched her, it wasn’t like she suddenly vanished. It was like she melted with it. I just stared at the spot she had been moments before, standing right in the middle of that black scorch mark. 

I didn’t tell the police that Aurore had made it back to the dormroom the night before. I know that’s probably a bad thing, but I don’t know how I would have explained the truth to them, and I doubt they would have believed me. I just told them that Aurore and Harvey hadn’t made it back when they were supposed to so I drove out, alone, to find them. I haven’t drive by there since, and I tend to stay out of storms now. I loved Aurore, but, if I’m being honest, I’m scared to learn exactly what happened to her. 

So, is that all you need?

_ \-- Statement ends -- _

**MDC:** Well, there are at least a lot of easily confirmable pieces of information with this case. Mireille Caquet and Aurore  Beauréal did attend the same university and were roommates for the first half of their first year. The last official siting of Mademoiselle Beauréal was by her parents, who said in a statement to the police that they watched their daughter get into the car with Harvey Bisset at the end of winter break in 2014. Mademoiselle Caquet didn’t come give her statement till later the following year, and when Le Chien Kim, Archival Assistant, was sent to do a follow up with her, she declined to speak any further about the incident. Alya did manage to find information on the crash in a local newspaper, which states that Harvey Bisset died and Aurore Beauréal has been missing since. No can confirm what caused the crash, and have chalked it up to Monsieur Bisset hydroplaning and losing control of the car. Whether or not there really was someone in the road that night cannot be answered, but this is certainly not the first statement I’ve read regarding a mysterious figure and rain that seems to come out of nowhere on a sunny day. In my professional opinion, however, I would say there is nothing supernatural about the crash. I- I’m not supposed to speculate, but… I might posit that if Mireille Caquet did receive a shock as debilitating as the statement makes it seem, Aurore could have run off on her own accord and not “melt,” as Mademoiselle Caquet describes it. That still does not explain how Aurore Beauréal, if she really did get stuck by lightning the night before, have produced a great enough electric shock to seriously harm her friend. 

End Recording. 

_ \-- Recording ends -- _


	3. Transcript of Recording 1.02

**Transcript of Recording 1.02**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

MDC: Statement of Nathaniel Kurtzburg, regarding a painting he bought at an estate sale. Original statement given the 26th of June, 2020. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris. 

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins -- _

**MDC:** I used to buy all of my things from secondhand shops. The first apartment I rented after finishing university I couldn’t afford to furnish completely new, or even with the cheap stuff you get at IKEA. I bought it all used. I really liked thrifting things. It was such a rush finding the perfect vintage pieces to put into my home, especially those still in fairly good condition. I made a hobby out of restoring old furniture and home decor. If I could make it look nice enough after redoing the upholstery or putting a new finishing stain on the wood, I’d sell it to someone else for the price of how ever much I bought it for plus the labor for revitalizing it. It was an easy way to make a little extra cash on the side, and a good way to take a break if I was ever in an art slump. 

Oh- I’m a painter by trade. It’s not extremely relevant to what happened, but it maybe can help explain why I bought the painting in the first place. Why I was so drawn to it.

It was my first time trying to buy at an estate sale. The place was a little ways outside of the city, and you could tell by the size of the house and how well kept it had been that the person who used to live there had been rich. I walked around for a while looking at all the items, but everything was too expensive for me to buy and there wasn’t really anything that I could fix up anyway. I was about to leave when I saw it in the corner by the front door. I swear it hadn’t been there when I first came in, and everyone else seemed to be walking past it. I don’t know why I stayed to look at it, judging by the price tags on everything else it wasn’t something I could probably buy, but I just stood there looking at it for who even knows how long. 

The actual painting didn’t matter that much, that’s not what was important. It was just like any other poorly done, post-impressionist landscape painting in a gaudy gold frame. There was something underneath that. Like, I mean literally underneath it. You can tell when somebody’s painted over something else if you’re looking close enough. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was like that whatever the artist had painted over was suffocating under there. The ringing in my ears sounded like a cry for help, and I felt a strong pulling in my chest telling me that I couldn’t just leave it there like that. 

So, I stayed for the auction and was one of the only two bids for a painting it seems no one else noticed. The other guy was this short, older Chinese man who had a bald on the top of his head and a goatee. I probably wouldn’t have remembered so well if he had seemed angry that he had lost the bid. He just seemed… sad, and was looking at me with this deep sorrow, like he felt sorry for me or something. It just weirded me out at the time, but now I understand why.

The entire drive home my ears were still ringing, and as soon as I got through the door of my apartment I took the painting out of its frame and set it up on an easel. It was like this obsessive compulsion taking away layer after layer of paint. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t do anything else until that thing was uncovered. 

I noticed immediately when I had reached the painting underneath. The color contrast between the work above and the one below was stark. Instead of the yellows and greens of a grassy field there was just a bleak grey and black swirling mass beginning to appear. It was at that point I think I collapsed. There’s just their period of blacked out memory. I remember waking up though because I felt something dripping onto my face, and when I looked the rest of the paint was melting off. It covered the floor, my clothes, mixing together into a murky brown color. 

As soon as I locked eyes with the painting I couldn’t look away. It wouldn’t let me. The gaunt face staring back at me was too much like my own, but grey and hollowed out with empty eyes that held such unvoiced pain. It was like it was telling me “This is what you will become. I am what you will become.”

Eventually I grabbed enough control of my mind to rip the painting off of the easel and turn it around facing the wall. It didn’t have a hold on me anymore, but the ringing in my ears came back. I played that game with it for months. Every night I’d turn it around to face the wall, and every morning I walk out to find to slightly turned back around. Eventually, I started to stay awake, waiting, listening to see if there was any sign it was moving, and when I did finally fall asleep from exhaustion I’d dream of that other me crawling out of that painting, turning me just as gaunt and grey as it was. I’d see it standing there at the foot of my bed, waiting for me to slip into madness so it could take my place. I think it started to. Everytime I looked in the mirror, I thought I could see my face gradually shifting to become more like it. 

That’s when I decided I had to get rid of it. I tried burning it, ripping it to shreds, but nothing I did would damage it. It couldn’t be destroyed, and I see why now. It is my future. It is inevitable. I’m giving it to you so maybe I can delay it for a little while longer. I haven’t seen my parents in years and I’d like to go visit them before… Well, I guess that’s about all I can do. Thank you for letting me write this down. At least, there’ll be some record of me somewhere. The real me.

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends. -- _

**MDC:** The question of whether or not a painting can take over the life of another person is not one I’m going to give validity to or even try to answer, especially giving the history of Monsieur Kurtzberg’s health. Alya was able to get a copy of Nathaniel Kurtzberg’s medical records before she had to leave on business trip, but have nothing in them that would suggest that what he experienced was the result of some kind of psychosis. I had Kim go back to the address Nathaniel left with his statement, and while he hasn’t been living there for some months now, his neighbors described him as very quiet and private, but kind. He took commissions for family portraits from his neighbors, who had requested them because they were worried about his financial state. All in all, people thought he was a good person. The landlord told Kim that Nathaniel moved out without warning and left no forwarding address. He hasn’t been seen by anyone since, and has not contacted his family since visiting back in early March. 

As for the painting he supposedly left in Artifacts, a record was made of it being received, but it no longer there, and no explanation can be given for why it is no longer there. This wasn’t even discovered until I asked about it, apparently both the receival record and this statement have been buried since the time they were made back in February. The only explanation I can give is that it was the time between Wang Fu’s passing and my appointment to the position. Whoever was taking care of the Archives in the interim clearly didn’t care about organization. 

Which brings me to another interesting part of this statement. The description of the man that Nathaniel Kurtzberg says competed with him at the estate auction matches the photographs I have been able to find of my predecessor. Why Wang Fu was at that auction and trying to buy that particular item I couldn’t tell you, clearly he knew of its supernatural connection. If that’s the case, I’d very much like to track it down and return it to a secure area of Artifact storage, but at the moment I have my hands full with trying to figure out if anymore filing mishaps like this one have been made. If another case like this occurs, I’d like to be more able to get conclusive answers, and actually locate the statement subject. I’ll continue to keep my eyes peeled for any evidence regarding Nathaniel Kurtberg’s disappearance. 

End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends -- _


	4. Transcript of Recording 1.03

**Transcript of Recording 1.03**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**MDC:** Statement of Rose Lavillant, regarding a strange order in her apartment. Original statement given 20th of March, 2016. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris. 

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins -- _

**MDC:** I don’t remember exactly when I started smelling it. I didn’t even notice until my girlfriend, Juleka, came over and pointed it out to me. It was this really bitter smell, the kind of one you feel like you can almost taste, but sometimes it would have this really sweet scent lingering behind that. Every so often I’d catch a whiff of it and I’d feel like I was going to throw up. 

For the first month or so, it was easy enough to cover up. I’d take a few of the unsold scented candles home from the shop I worked at and that would be that. It would cover it up well enough that I wouldn’t notice, and eventually, my girlfriend stopped commenting on it. It became second nature to light a candle the second I walked in the door. Even after they stopped covering it up, I still did it. It was like a prayer for whatever the scent was to go away.

I had never smelled the scent anywhere else until one day when I was heading out to work that morning. I always used this back entrance to the building because I didn’t like having to walk around an extra block to start heading in the right direction, so as I was heading out the back door, I ran into a woman I had never seen before. I remember she had on a burnt orange coat with a large collar that she had turned up so it was covering part of her face. When we bumped shoulders she turned and looked at me just for a moment, but when our eyes locked I smelled it. That bittersweet smell. It was so strong it made the inside of my nose burn and my eyes water and I felt like I was going to faint. 

I swear that woman smiled at me, but it wasn’t at all friendly.

I couldn’t get that headache to go away, though. It lingered all day and gave me that warm, sick feeling in my stomach, too. I thought I would have a little refuge when I got home and was able to lay down for the rest of the day, but before I even opened the door I was met with that smell. I didn’t want to open the door, but I needed to know what was making that smell. 

It’s as I was reaching for the handle that I remembered that woman from earlier that morning, how she was practically doused in the scent. It crossed my mind that the reason my apartment could smell so strongly now was because that she was in there. 

I gripped my keys in between my fingers. I wasn’t sure how much help that would be, but maybe it would be the difference between living and dying. It didn’t matter much in the end, because when I opened the door and stepped inside, there was nobody there and I was immediately incapacitated by the smell. I was gagging and retching. I pulled my shirt up to my nose to try and funnel through the fresh air, but it didn’t help. 

I decided to just turn around and walk back out. I would call my girlfriend and tell her I was staying at her place and then I would get someone to come over and see if they could try to find whatever was making that smell. After that I… I don’t know. I know I made it out into the hall and I know I ran into her again. That woman. She grabbed by the shoulders, I think, and breathed in my face and suddenly I was just covered in the smell. 

I ended up in the alley out back. I think she must have dragged me out there. When I opened my eyes again, she was standing over me. Same rusted coat, same brown hair, same frightening smile. I was scared because now I was certainly, deadly certain, that the smell was coming from her. 

She told me, “I didn’t expect anyone to notice. No one can notice.”

I don’t know exactly how I knew but in that moment, I took the deepest breath of my life, and I held it. God only knows how many seconds I was lying on the concrete not breathing. That woman just stood over me with that smell wafting off of her. The moment I tried to let a little air into my lungs, my brain seemed to go even more hazy than before. I forgot if I had in to work or not that day. I don’t even remember what happened. The only reason I know now for sure that I went to work is because I checked the logs and it says for sure that I clocked in and clocked out. That woman did something to my memory. All because I breathed in… whatever it was. So, I just didn’t until she left. She stood up and walked away. 

I waited to breathe again until she was out of the alley, until I could be sure. I laid there for a while and then I got up and came straight here. I don’t know, I hear you deal with these kinds of things. It might not seem like something supernatural, but I know. I know it was. 

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends -- _

**MDC:** ( _sighs)_

I wasn’t expecting to find this statement here. Almost four years ago, and I still remember Rose Lavillant barging through the front door of the institute. I was the one who brought her into the Archives to give her statement. It was actually the first statement I ever took, way before I was given this job. I remember having to console her after her experi- 

Sorry, I’m just going to stop talking like an Archivist for a minute. 

It was- It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I never really thought about any of this before. I am skeptical, always have been, but to see how these experiences can really affect people changed my perspective. 

_ (clears throat) _

Usually, on a follow-up investigation, I would send one of the Assistants, but I went myself this time. I felt like I should. Rose Lavillant is currently working at the same job but has moved into a different apartment with her girlfriend, Juleka Couffaine. It seems she now sufferers from some occasional short term memory loss. 

I asked if she remembers any specifics about the woman. While the event is still a bit hazy on specifics, she did mention again brown hair and that she possibly could have been Italian. Unfortunately, if she is right, that would mean that Lila Rossi is possibly the one behind this, but at least we know something new. Whatever powers she has or tricks she pulls, there’s a distinct smell attached to it. The only downside is it seems not everyone can smell it. I’m going to have to look for any more files and any connections, no matter how small, to Lila Rossi. She’s caused enough trouble. Whatever I can do to find out what she’s up to, I’ll do it.

End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends -- _


	5. Transcript of Recording 1.04

**Transcript of Recording 1.04**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**MDC:** Statement of Bob Roth, regarding an apparent stalker. Original statement given the 24th of May, 2009. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris.

Statement begins. 

_ \-- Statement Begins -- _

**MDC:** Looking back, I think I’m exactly the kind of person to have a stalker. I’m fairly successful and have been in the public eye for most of my career. People admire me, you could say, and I-

_ (knocking, door opens) _

**LCK:** Hey, sorry. Didn’t know you were busy. I can come back-

**MDC:** What did you need, Kim?

**LCK:** Oh, well, I was just about to send Adrien out for lunch again, but I need your order.

**MDC:** I don’t want anything.

**LCK:** You sure?

**MDC:** Yeah.... Do you... need anything else?

**LCK:** What are you working on?

**MDC:** Recording this statement from a guy who almost certainly lying about the whole thing.

**LCK:** Why would anyone lie in a statement?

**MDC:** Attention. 

**LCK:** Mind if I take a look at these?

**MDC:** No, go ahead. 

**LCK:** Hmm… _(papers shuffling)_ Holy crap, no way! This one’s mine.

**MDC:** What?

**LCK:** My statement. God, this is actually kind of nostalgic. 

**MDC:** You’ve made a statement?

**LCK:** Uh, yeah. Not everyone starts working here because they can’t get a job anywhere else.

**MDC:** Shut up. 

**LCK:** You should record it. Right now. I’m sure even you couldn’t find a fault with mine. 

**MDC:** Why don’t you record it?

**LCK:** What?   
  


**MDC:** Give your statement. I’ll just be sitting here, reading this, making sure there aren’t any inconsistencies. 

**LCK:** Okay… Let’s make a bet then. If I give my statement and it doesn’t match that one exactly I’ll bring you coffee every day for a month, but if get it to match then you have to buy me drinks after work for a month.

**MDC:** The price of drinks do not equate with the price of coffee-

**LCK:** It does if I get it from your favorite place down  [ Rue  ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rue_Rambuteau) Rambuteau.

**MDC:** Fine. Let’s do it. 

_ (clearing throat, chair scraping) _

**MDC:** Okay… Statement of Lê Chiến Kim, regarding-

**LCK:** My first encounter with the supernatural.

**MDC:** Statement recorded directly from subject on the 10th of August, 2020. Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, corroborating with original statement given 13th of August, 2016. Statement begins.

**LCK:** Right, so, I did a lot of really dumb stuff during uni. I was there on a swim team scholarship and didn’t focus on my actual studies all that much, so every weekend my roommates and I would end up taking a trip somewhere. It started out at just camping somewhere for a day or two and then getting home right in time for the first class on Monday morning. Eventually, though, we started going a bit more extreme with our trips. One time it was cliff diving, another time spelunking, and then we were supposed to go BASE jumping one time, but I was the only one who ended up doing it. 

I don’t remember who recommended it, maybe it had been Chris, but we had made plans one weekend to go urban exploring. I was usually the one to encourage everyone else to participate, but this time I was the one who was nervous. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that we would be trespassing and probably arrested if we were caught. Looking at the pictures of the place we had picked out to go, I always got this sick, uneasy feeling in my stomach. 

The place we picked out was an abandoned zoo that was probably like twenty miles outside of the city. It’s been demolished now, and good riddance, but we picked it because Chris had thought it would be cool to explore the empty animal enclosures. So we drove out there, and packed sleeping bags so we could stay overnight in the place, and waited till it was dark to go in. It was pretty easy to hop the fence. 

The whole place had this eerie feeling to it, you know, like when you’re walking down your hallway in the middle of the night with all the lights off. You can’t help but feel like something in the dark is really watching you. While all my other roommates were looking around in awe, I was shining my flashlight into the dark corners. I had never wanted to back out of anything before, but I knew that we shouldn’t be there. 

Victor dragged us over to what had been the old gorilla enclosure. Most of the enclosures were lower than ground level, so we were leaning over the railing with our flashlights. The grass was completely overgrown, and the glass separating what I guess was probably an observation room for scientists, or the animal doctors, or whatever was broken. There was nothing super interesting about the place, but while I was scanning the opposite wall, I passed over these two glowing shapes. I went back to them quickly and sure enough, they were still there and, at the time I thought I was going crazy, I swear I could see the outline of a head and a body. They only stayed there for a few seconds before they kind of quickly disappeared. I tried to tell myself that it had just been the reflection of some of the broken glass, because no one else had seen it but me.

We kind of wandered around aimlessly for a bit, took a couple of pictures, and eventually, we found the building that used to hold the reptile exhibit. I’m not scared of being in small spaces, but something was telling me not to let myself walk into an enclosed space. Call it a hunch, and I was absolutely right. 

We’d maybe made it about 5 yards into the building before I started to hear another pair of feet shuffling behind us. I was towards the back of the group and the only other person behind me was Chris, who was a pretty small kid still. Well, small compared to the rest of us. We were all athletes, and Chris was the only one who really super smart. Like, a double major in bio-chem and engineering smart. Anyway, Chris was a way to light to be making the heavy footsteps I was hearing. I told him to walk closer to me. I didn’t like the idea of him hanging so far back behind me, because even if I was still imagining things, let him be the one in potential danger just didn’t sit right. 

When he caught up to me, I put my hand on his shoulder and we stopped walking for just a moment. That’s when I heard the growling start. The other guys had stopped walking too, and that’s when I realized that I hadn’t been going crazy. I shined my flashlight down the hallway and for a moment, say the same two glowing dots in the darkness before that thing stepped out of the shadows. 

It was kind of dressed in what looked like a security guard’s uniform, and it had a sneer on his face. I mean, yeah, you could probably just say the guy wasn’t happy to find a couple of eighteen-year-olds breaking into an abandoned property, but when I looked at its face, I realized the reason that it looked at us like that was because its teeth didn’t quite fit inside its mouth. 

It told us, “You’re not supposed to be here.” And, obviously, we knew we weren’t, so Victor, who hadn’t realized what kind of situation we were in, said that we were very sorry, and not to call the police and that we would leave immediately. The thing’s mouth opened even wider, and I saw just how big its teeth were. I think it had been smiling. It wasn’t angry at all that we were there. It was exciting. 

I knew that there had to be an exit at the end of the exhibit, and I wasn’t just going to wait there any longer for it to attack us, so I grabbed onto the back of Chris’ jacket and started pulling him along behind me. Victor got the message pretty quickly, too, but I don’t think I ever saw Paul or Emile come out of there behind us. We tried to run back towards where we had hopped the fence to come in, but pretty soon, I heard it running alongside us in the darkness, much faster than we were moving. 

Victor was right next to me, I was looking over at him, and in a split second, he was being tackled from the side and pushed through the fence of one of the exhibits. I don’t know why I kept running. I was still holding onto Chris and I just kept going. We reached the fence again and I boosted Chris up and over first. He got all the way down the other side when I heard the growling again very close behind me. I turned around slowly and there it was, hunched over, almost on all fours. However, close to human, it had tried to make itself look when it first appeared it had given up all pretense now. It was a monster. 

It was moving slowly towards me, and I knew that there was no way I’d be able to climb the fence and escape before it pounced. Chris was crying on the other side, holding onto the bars, and I remember hearing him scream when the thing finally did get me. It tore into my leg, and I’ve broken a bone before and dislocated my shoulder once, but it didn’t compare to the pain I felt then. I really thought that was the end for me, but there was another voice shouting. My vision was blurry, but I could see Victor standing there, covered in blood. He was limping and holding onto his right arm. I was surprised the thing actually stopped trying to eat me. 

I’ll never forget the look on Victor’s face like he knew he was dead already. I was still on the ground, but it was backing away from me and headed back towards Victor. I looked away after that, and tried my best to climb back over the fence. Chris helped me down the other side and we made it back to the car. 

I know they found Paul and Emile, but Victor wasn’t. When we heard the news that they were demolishing the place I couldn’t have been more relieved. Chris had been obsessive ever since, leaving warnings on urban exploring sites not to go there and looking to see if there had been any more disappearances into the place. We still live together, and I’ve tried my best to forget, but I still got the scar to prove it. 

**MDC:** So, then how did you get involved with the institute?   
  


**LCK:** The morning after that I came here and gave my statement. I actually met the old Archivist, you know? Nice guy, answered all my questions about what that thing might have been. How I could avoid ever dealing with something like that again.

**MDC:** Then why are you working here?

**LCK:** Fu said that if I was interested that they had an opening in the research department, which would give me access to the library. Chris was already starting to spiral by then and I thought that if I could get us both some answers he might be able to… move on. So, I dropped out of uni, couldn’t have continued to get my scholarship anyway, my leg is too messed up for me to swim competitively ever again, and I applied for the job here the same day. They hired me almost right away. 

So, you going to buy me drinks or what?

**MDC:** Cheap drinks. 

**LCK:** Fine. I’ll still bring you coffee, though. Cheap coffee.

_ (chair scraping) _

**LCK:** I’ll just tell Adrien you want a sandwich. I’ll see you after work… You don’t suppose we should invite him along with us, do you? I feel a little guilty leaving him out. I guess it would be easy to tolerate him while drunk. 

**MDC:** Just do whatever, I don’t care. I’m not paying for him, though. God knows the Agreste family has more money than I’ll ever see in my entire life. 

**LCK:** Right. I’ll leave you to work.

_ (door closing) _

**MDC:** _(sigh)_ End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends --  _


	6. Transcript of Recording 1.05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Mollie here, author of the Miraculous Archives. I really appreciate you reading this far, and we've got plenty more episodes to come. You've currently reached the end of available episodes. New episodes will be posted on Tumblr first and then ao3 the following week when the next episode is released. If you want to stay up to date and get read the new episodes of the Miraculous Archives as soon as possible, follow me on Tumblr @marvelousmsmol.   
> Thanks for reading!

**Transcript of Recording 1.05**

_ — Recording begins —  _

**MDC:** Statement of Jagged Stone, regarding his encounter with a photographer. Original statement given August 27, 2002. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris.

Statement begins.

_ — Statement begins — _

**MDC:** Right, so, I guess I might as well get on with it. You might think this is just the work of an ordinary stalker, but trust me, I know there’s something spooky about it all. I mean people just don’t- can’t- do something like this. 

I’m used to getting my photo taken and having eyes on me. When you’ve been in the spotlight as long as I have you come to know when someone’s watching you. There’s a feeling, a certain type of “hairs standing up on the back of your neck” feeling that you don’t get from anything else. Usually, I’d brush off the stares. It can be uncomfortable, but it comes with the job. You’re giving yourself to the public, so the public gets to view you as much as they’d like. 

I don’t know why this bothered me more than the other times. Even seconds before, I was standing in front of a mass of paparazzi with their cameras, but when I made it to the end of the rope line… The guy was standing there about ten feet apart from everyone else, just a few steps between me and my car. He had on these weird neon-colored, space-age glasses that’d gone out of style back in the 80s, but that was the only spec of color on him. There was a camera in his hands but he wasn’t pointing it at anything. I don’t think it was even on. 

When I got directly in front of him, he spoke, flatly as if there were no emotion or even life in his voice. “Can I take your picture,” He said 

I said, “excuse me,” unsure of really how else to respond. No one ever asked to take my picture. They just did.

“Can I take your picture,” He repeated. 

I was about to respond with sure, of course, he could take my picture, but my assistant got there and started dragging me away, apologizing to the man and saying that we had to move on or we would be late. At the time, I couldn’t help but feel as though I had just narrowly avoided something disastrous, and my assistant seemed nervous. Maybe she had the same feeling, too. 

Later that night, I had been drinking at an old friend’s place. I was only going to be in Paris until later that evening, so I wanted to catch up with them. It was about one in the morning I left, and the streets were mostly empty at that point. My friend warned me not to walk back to my hotel and to take a cab instead. He said people had gone missing in the area lately. I told him not to worry. The alcohol was wearing off at that point, and I thought an early morning stroll in the cold would be enough to clear my head completely. Being hungover and flying back to England at the same time was not a combination I particularly enjoyed. I promised I’d call him when I got back to my hotel and left. 

I was only a block away from the apartment, and I was beginning to regret my decision to not take a cab. It was colder than I had expected, and my jacket wasn’t much help. I had shoved my hands into my pockets to try and keep them warm and cursed myself when my phone buzzed and I had to take them out to look at my new messages. 

It was a picture of a woman. I didn’t know who she was, but it stopped me cold. Her face had been captured screaming, eyes bulging, and I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. More and more photos were popping up in my messages, all from the same unknown number. All had the same facial expressions like they were begging to be let out of the photos. 

I didn’t realize until that moment that I had stopped in front of an entrance to an alleyway. There were no lights, so I couldn’t see into it, but out of the darkness, I heard a voice.

“Can I take your picture?”

I know it’s a stupid mistake, but I took a step closer to the opening. My eyes were straining, but I could just barely make out the outline of a shape, and as my eyes adjusted, I could see the brightest part of them. The outline of a pair of brightly colored glasses. 

“Who are you,” I asked. I don’t know why. I didn’t really expect an answer. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going insane. 

“Can I take your picture,” They repeated again. It was that same flat and lifeless voice as the photographer from earlier that evening. 

Even in the darkness, I made out the movement of their hand as they raised something up. On instinct, my hands flew up to my face, and I turned around, facing away from the figure. Out of the corners of my vision, I could see the light flash. I stayed there, kneeling on the sidewalk and covering my eyes for almost a full minute. When I finally pulled together my courage to get back up, I was shaking. My feet stumbled as I turned back around, and looking into the alley, the light above the side door of a restaurant was back on, and there was no one in sight. 

I ran the rest of the way back to my hotel and locked and bolted the door. I waited all night for something to happen, but nothing did. The next morning I tried to find that alley again but it was still empty and not a sign or trace that anyone had been there. 

I’m getting on my plane soon, but I felt I should come and tell you people about this before I left. No use in waiting to tell your London office. I’m not sure if you people have a department that hunts down monsters, but you should. That was fucking terrifying. 

MDC: Statement ends.

_ — Statement ends — _

**MDC:** We do not, in fact, have a department that hunts down the monsters people tell us about in these statements. Partly because we are purely a research institute and partly because it would be a monumental waste of time. 

Monsieur Stone’s file does in fact have copies of the pictures he received on his phone, but they are significantly warped, and look more like Edvard Munch painting than an actual photograph. Nevertheless, basic identifying features were still able to be picked out, and Adrien managed, surprisingly, to match them with the descriptions given in many missing persons reports around the same time. All were thought to have been last seen near the sign of that alley that Monsieur Stone describes. 

It’s unfortunate to learn that my predecessor’s filing system is much more of a mess than I thought originally. This wasn’t even placed in the Archives. I found it tucked away in the bottom drawer of my desk. 

I had Kim try and contact Jagged Stone to see if he would be interested in giving a follow up statement, but he declined, saying that his management team didn’t want him connected with the institute. Apparently, our image seems to taint the reputation of respectable people, and that we’re nothing more than a group of crazy, high, drugged up phonies who are too far removed from reality to even have the nerve to call ourselves an academic research institute. Or, at least, that was what was yelled into Kim’s ear by Jagged Stone’s management when he was one the phone. I’m inclined to agree with them. 

End recording.

_ — Recording ends —  _


	7. Transcript of Recording 1.06

**Transcript of Recording 1.06**

_ — Recording begins —  _

**MDC:** Statement of Théo Barbot, regarding a commission of a statue he received and the events that followed. Original statement given October 28, 2015. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris.

Statement begins.

_ — Statement begins —  _

**MDC:** I’m not sure exactly what to think about all this. Those things are gone now. I made sure of that, and they won’t be coming back. Honestly, I don’t even want to know what it all was, so let’s just say here and now that I don’t want anyone from this place contacting me after I leave. Ever. 

So, where to start… I got the first commission about a year ago. I’d been working for a while, and commissions had been pretty steady for a while, but this… This was the one that was going to guarantee me work for the rest of my career. I can’t disclose who exactly ordered the statue, the commission came with a huge stack of paperwork and an NDA. I may be doing okay for myself money-wise, but I can’t afford the legal fees of breaking something like that. 

But, anyway, the statue was of a woman. I got a reference picture, but there were specific instructions to destroy the photo after I finished the project. I never met with the guy personally, but I could tell he was… eccentric, so I just did as I was asked. He was compensating me pretty well, so how could I refuse? 

There wasn’t anything too odd about the process of making the thing. I mean I had normal enough work sessions. No “supernatural” stuff happened until after I had finished it, but… I did get a little bit of an odd feeling. It felt like- Like the woman was watching me, even before I had crafted eyes for her. It was unsettling to say the least, and I had to cover her up when I was done for the day. Even then, it only dulled the feeling, and I could feel her through the walls when I was in my apartment that was connected to my studio. 

I was relieved when I finished it, because that meant I could get it out of there, but when I tried to contact my client, he just pushed off the pick-up date, saying that he would pay an extra fee if I could keep it for a week. He said something about the space he was going to house her in wasn’t ready yet. At first, I thought, “Fine, I’m just going to more money from this guy. Money is nice.” 

I know there’s no way I could have known not to be cautious, but it was a mistake. 

I didn’t even notice a first. I was just walking into the studio for another long day of work, starting on another project while she just sat there watching me. It took me an hour to notice that there was a bigger lump under the sheet than there should have been. When I approached it, I was almost too scared to see what was underneath. I was trembling. All over. It was almost like my fingers could barely grip the fabric when I reached for it. 

There were two of them. Two statues. At first glance, it seemed like they were exactly the same. The pose, every curve and cut, were all identical. I had to stare at it for a long time until I realized she- the new woman- She was smiling at me, a full teeth, lips curled up, clenched jaw smile. It was for me. I knew that her smile was for me. 

I covered it back up, and when the client came to take the original back with him, I hid the new one. The guy showed up and gave me the money, had this burly looking man load it up into a truck for him, and he was almost out the door when he stopped right in front of the copy. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t move as he toyed with the sheet covering it up. I was just filled with this sheer terror, begging silently with the entirety of my unmoving body not to reveal her. 

The man asked me if I had “see anything special in his muse.” I could only shake my head, and he gave an amused chuckle as he released the sheet from his hand. I was able to move again after that and he left. 

I haven’t seen or heard from him since, but my commissions for statues picked up quite a bit after that. I don’t know if he was giving out recommendations, but I continued to get requests to make statues with references from photographs that I was supposed to dispose of after it was over. 

The copies just kept coming.

Eventually, my studio became a maze of covered up statues. I had no space to work anymore. It was just a warehouse for these unexplainable figures. I found myself standing in the middle of them all trying to turn myself to catch every single one of them in my sight at once because when I wasn’t looking, I felt as though they were reaching out towards me. They were inviting me- drawing me in with their smiles. 

I don’t remember when I started looking for a way to get rid of them. I don’t even know if I ever actually had. Some woman just showed up at my door one day, saying she was answering my ad for a pick-up. I tried to tell her I had no clue what she was talking about, but she just pushed her way inside. She had the same burly man as before with her, and one by one, they wheeled the copies out of my studio and loaded them up in a large truck. I asked what could they possibly want with all of these, and she just told me, there was somewhere they needed to be put for safekeeping. I didn’t like the sound of that, but the woman was so intimidating I didn’t question her. 

Within an hour, they were all gone. My studio was empty again, and the next couple of statues I’ve made no copies have shown up. I have started to wonder though if all of those commissions really were separate people, or if it was just that same man every time.

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends --  _

**MDC:** Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before. I’m not sure what validity the idea of creepy statues appearing out of nowhere has, but it does strike a similarity with Monsieur Kurtzburg’s case and the painting. At least this time, we have actually been able to find Monsieur Barbot, but as he stated at the beginning, he declined to make any further statement. He is at a different address, which leads me to believe he left his old apartment in the hopes of forgetting the whole thing. I’m sure I’d want to do the same. 

Monsieur Barbot did leave with us photographs that he tried to take of one set of the statues side by side, but the picture is so distorted it’s impossible to tell if there’s anything actually in the picture at all. So, we have no way of knowing what the statues looked like, or if they even existed at all. 

Kim managed to dig up useful however, but I didn’t want to ask him how exactly he obtained Monsieur Barbot’s client records since it probably involves something illegal. For the comissions around that time, they are all, not surprisingly, made under different names, but the first one was actually made by the current Mayor of Paris, Andre Bourgeois. I don’t know what to make of that, but there was a note on file saying that the statue was actually meant to be a gift-

_ (door opens) _

**AA:** Hey, Marinette, sorry, are you busy right now?

**MDC:** Adrien! I’m in the middle of recording a statement- Who’s this?!

**NL:** Oh, sorry. We’re interrupting you. I’m Nino-

**MDC:** Why are you here right now?

**AA:** Well, uh, my friend would like to give a statement.

**MDC:** ...What?

**NL:** I have a statement to give. It’s… It is your job to take those, right?

**MDC:** What… Okay, just… Hold on one second.

_ (tape recorder clicks) _

\-- Recording ends -- 


	8. Transcript of Record 1.07

**Transcript of Recording 1.07**

_\-- Recording begins --_

**MDC:** Whenever you’re ready.

 **NL:** So, I just… start talking?

 **MDC:** Let’s just start with your name and a brief description of the encounter. 

**NL:** Okay… Uh, Nino Lahiffe, making a statement to… Sorry, what was your name again?

 **MDC:** Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

 **NL:** Right. _(clears throat)_ Nino Lahiffe, making a statement to Marinette Dupain-Cheng of the Miraculous Institute, regarding… This sounds really stupid when I say it out loud. It’s mind control. Regarding mind control. 

**MDC:** … Statement begins.

_\-- Statement begins --_

**NL:** I got hired right out of college. There was this professor who was fond of me I guess, and he hired me to come work as an assistant for classes and workshops. I was like a TA for him, but I actually got paid, which was nice. I’ve always loved working on TV and movie sets, and the job was perfect because it still gave me enough time to work on my personal projects while “teaching the next great generation of filmmakers.” 

That’s what Professor Grimault always said anyway. He was very proud of the work he did. I admired the man. If I had to teach for a while before I could actually get hired by a film company, then he was the only person I wanted to be working under. 

We were gearing up to start working on a grad student’s final project. Professor Grimault liked to be hands on. He helped out with student’s projects any way he could, so when the student said they needed so props that the theater department didn’t have and couldn’t get their hands on themselves, he offered to reach out to some people to see if they had anything they could use. 

_(laughs)_

Sorry, this is going to get off-topic for a minute, but you know how there’s all these stories of the sets of horror movies being cursed? I always like those. I thought they were fun. It’s less fun when you’re the one living it. I knew the moment I read the script that I would never actually watch the finished project. I don’t want to speculate about what was going on inside this kid’s brain, but I was scared just reading it. Grimault loved it though. I guess he saw something I didn’t. Some sort of potential. 

One of the props we needed to get for the project was an old fashioned looking TV set. You know, the ones with the antenna and the dials on it. We were looking for one for weeks and we were at the point where we were just going to suggest to the student whose project it was just to change the TV set to something else. 

But, I just walked into Grimault’s office one morning and there it was. 

He was sitting at his desk, waiting for me to deliver his coffee. He smiled and kept looking between me and the TV, like he really, really wanted me to mention it. I did ask eventually, and just as I had expected he went off on a rant about how amazingly lucky we were. The thing was in pristine condition, still shiny and new like he had just traveled back in time and bought it right out of a store. 

“The best part, though,” He told me, “is that it’s still in working condition.” 

All I could think was cool, neat. I doubted that any cable service would be compatible with the thing, but still, he seemed pretty excited so I didn’t really say anything. I did ask him where he got it. Apparently, someone had anonymously donated it to the department. That did strike me as odd. We’d reached out to a lot of people and everyone we’d talked to had come back saying that they had nothing of the sort, and that was just the day before. So, walking in the next morning to find exactly what we needed for the shoot just sitting in the office was a little too… present with a sparkly bow tied on top.

Still, I couldn’t complain. We would film the scenes with the TV as a prop and then at the end of the day, Professor Grimault would have me carry it back up to his office. He said it was for safekeeping, which I thought was pretty plausible since it did seem like a pretty valuable antique. 

It wasn’t long after that though I started to see Professor Grimault watching the TV. I passed by his office frequently on my way to the classes I was assisting and I’d see him sitting there in front of it. Originally, I thought he must have figured out a way to get it to work. I didn’t question it, but he started shutting me out, not even letting me in the room anymore. I’d still bring coffee for him every morning, but I’d have to hand it to him through a small opening in the doorway. Whenever we’d have to discuss, he’d make us go somewhere else, but always was in a rush to get back to the office. I one point I think he just stopped going home. 

The thing is, I never realized that there hadn’t even been audio until the day it actually started playing sound. I walked past the office on my way to class one morning and I could hear this muffled sound through the shut door. It sounded like a single voice speaking, almost like an old radio announcer’s voice. I looked through the small window on the door, and, sure enough, Professor Grimault was still sitting there staring at it. I stayed there, watching because something seemed deeply… off about the whole thing. It wasn’t just the fact that the TV had never been playing sound up till this point, but there was something else. The TV wasn’t even on.

It had never been turned on.

There was no picture. No glow. Just a black square, but it was still… talking to him. I couldn’t hear what it was saying exactly, but it was… Whatever it was, it was not good, and I decided that I needed to know. Maybe- just maybe- there was something I could do to help him.

 _(scoffs)_ I really thought I could save him. 

**[silence]**

**MDC:** Do you- do you want to take a break before-

 **NL:** No. No, I want to keep going. (sniffling) I’ll be fine. 

**MDC:** …Statement resumes.

 **NL:** _(clears throat)_ Where was I? Umm… 

I wanted to see what I could do to help, so I decided I was going to sneak into Professor Grimault’s office and plant a recording device to get ahold of whatever audio he was listening to. Somehow, I actually managed to do it without getting caught. Professor Grimault had to go to a meeting with one of his colleagues, so I figured I had about ten minutes to get everything set up and get out of there. The day after, he got called back to a meeting around the same time, so I went and retrieved the recorder, but when I tried to play the audio later. Everything just came back as static. I thought that maybe he could have put something in front of it and it had muffled the sound, but I think that was around when I started grasping at straws. 

I decided to try again and repeated the process. Same thing. It couldn’t record the audio. I really wasn’t about to try a third time, and I just told myself that Professor Grimault was a grown man, and if he wanted to sit and stare and nothing while listening to what was probably just an old fashioned radio show, then he could do that. Who was I to stop him? 

I should have stopped him. 

I had to come get the TV to bring it down to set. It was kind of heavy, so hard to carry with just one person, so I always came to help out Professor Grimault take it down before a day of filming. Right away, I knew something was off. He had this sort of glazed-over look in his eyes and was standing so rigid. It almost seemed like he was gearing up to attack someone at any moment. We just carried the TV out without a word.   
It wasn’t too long into filming that morning that the accident happened. I won’t go too much into details, but one of the lights fell on one of the students… She died later. In the hospital. There was so much yelling, everyone panicking. The director was screaming at the lighting crew, demanding to know whose fault it was, but I knew. I knew. 

I remember looking over at Professor Grimault, and he looked back at me, and he- smiled. 

I decided then that I had to know what was going on with that damn TV because that wouldn’t be the end of it. I had to finish it off myself, or so many more people would get hurt before the end actually came. 

So, when Professor Grimault, or whoever- or whatever- he was then, headed off for another meeting, I snuck into his office and hid in the coat closet. It was just filled with old scripts and recordings of finished projects from students, and he never went in there, so I figured it was the perfect place to hide. 

It was a while before he came back, but I could hear him immediately settling into his chair in front of the TV. The voice started talking out of nowhere, and just as I had suspected, there was never even the sound of something being turned on. It almost sounded like Professor Grimault was just listening to a recording of his own voice, but this was distorted. It faded in and out. I’ve tried to block out the things it said. I had to block it out, or I’m sure I would have followed orders, too. I only remember the first few words.

_“Simon Says, kill them. Simon Says, kill them all.”_

It just went on like that for hours, telling Professor Grimault to do all these horrible things to people. Some of them about me specifically. I had to make it stop. It had to stop before he killed someone else… or killed me. 

I knew there was an umbrella in the stand by the door. It was probably the only viable weapon in the room. I knew I had to make a mad dash for it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have hesitated to off me in a second. So, I rushed out of the closet, grabbed the umbrella, pushed Professor Grimault to the floor, and rammed the end of the umbrella through the glass screen. I kept beating it, and beating it, and eventually, the umbrella broke and I started punching it with my bare hands. Professor Grimault didn’t even try to fight. He curled up on the floor in a ball, screaming and crying in pain, like hurting the thing was hurting him, too. Eventually, he fell unconscious. 

At that point, I had no clue what to do. My hands were bleeding, and the blood was dripping on the floor. The room was pretty much destroyed, and I knew I couldn’t leave Professor Grimault passed out there. 

That’s when I called Adrien. 

I knew that he worked here, and you guys probably hear about stuff like this all the time. It was so weird. You always joke about how your best friend is the one you would call to help clean up a crime scene. I just never thought it would actually happen. He was a little freaked out when he got there, but after a minute of panicking and asking me if I was alright, he just became completely calm. We cleaned my blood off of the floor and straightened up the place. Thankfully, Professor Grimault hadn’t woken up at all during that time, but now I hadn’t a clue about what we were going to do with him. Adrien placed a call to someone and said it would be taken care of. He took me here straight afterward, and now… Well, I’m telling you all this now. 

**MDC:** You have no clue who Adrien called? Or, do you know how was coming to clean up the rest?

 **NL:** No clue at all. At this point, I don’t really want to know. I think I’ve learned some things about Adrien tonight that I’d rather not have known. 

**MDC:** I’m… sorry. I don’t know him that well, so-

 **NL:** Don’t feel like you have to apologize. 

**MDC:** I’m sure it’s been a long night for you. If you don’t have anything else to add then you’re free to leave whenever you’re ready.

 **NL:** I think I’m still going to wait for Adrien. I think he and I have a lot to talk about. Probably.

 **MDC:** In that case, why don’t you wait out in the Archives. Tell Kim to make a cup off coffee for you. He’ll be more than happy to.

 **NL:** Thanks, I’ll probably take you up on that. Thank you for, I don’t know, listening...

 **MDC:** Oh, well… It’s just my job. 

**NL:** Yeah, but… I don’t know there’s something… Never mind. Thanks.

_(door opens, closes)_

_(door opens again)_

**AA:** So… Sorry, you’re all done?

 **MDC:** Yeah. Finished. 

**AA:** ...Sorry, I know you were probably about to leave before we came in. I appreciate you staying.

 **MDC:** Well, it’s not every day you get to hear a statement directly from the subject. 

**AA:** Yeah, but you- Look, I know you don’t really believe in all of this stuff. I just appreciate the fact that you took the time to listen to Nino. He seems really calm most of the time, and I know a lot of it is him just faking it, but- He’s my friend, so thank you.

 **MDC:** I am still a professional, Adrien. I’m not just going to make fun of someone in the middle of them giving me a statement. Not to mention, I know the amount of distress people are in most of the time.

 **AA:** That’s not what I meant-

 **MDC** : Do you really think this is my first time taking the statement of someone who’s shown up here five minutes after what probably is- to them- the most terrifying experience in the universe?!

 **AA:** ...I’m sorry. 

**MDC:** No. No, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be yelling. I’m just tired… and stressed. I guess. I’ve been down here for a long time. 

**AA:** You should go home. I’m sorry for keeping you. I probably should have just brought him here in the morning. We all need to sleep.

 **MDC:** Right, sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. I suppose. 

**AA:** Just another day down here… Uh, Marinette?

 **MDC:** What, Adrien?

 **AA:** I know it’s probably silly to say it again, but I want you to know that I mean it. Thank you.

 **MDC:** You’re welcome.

_(door opens)_

**AA:** Oh, your tape-recorder is still running.

 **MDC:** What? Oh, I thought I shut that thing off already.

_(tape recorder clicks)_

_\-- Recording ends --_


	9. Transcript of Recording 1.08

**Transcript of Recording 1.08**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**MDC:** Statement of Sabrina Raincomprix, regarding crimes committed by her father. Original statement given January 31, 2016. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris.

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins --  _

**MDC:** I think most little kids look up to their parents, view them like they’re the most perfect people in the world, because they don’t know the truth about their parents. Children and their parents might as well be perfect strangers, because parents hide things and kids don’t have enough of an understanding of themselves for them to understand themselves, let alone be understood by the people who raise them. I thought I knew my Dad. He seemed so great, and by every single one of our neighbor’s own admittance did the single dad thing well. He worked all day to support us and pay the rent, and then came home at night, cooked me dinner. Read me a bedtime story without fail. 

I just never knew what his work really involved. I mean, how are you supposed to tell your child that the monsters under their bed aren’t real when you face them every single day. They’re real at night, even more so in broad daylight. I should have known, too. My dad loved those old black and white monster movies. He watched them with me, and for the longest time growing I just thought it was to show me that monsters were nothing to be afraid of. Really, he was just obsessed with finding them, seeing them hurt. 

I know you’re not supposed to have sympathy for the devil, but I’ve looked through the case files, learned all their tricks for spotting them, and sometimes my dad and his partner had been wrong. That’s the reason why I’m here, because he’s retried and… very sick, and I’ve known the things he done for years now, but I’ve never had the courage to tell someone. At the very least, I thought I’d tell you. 

When I first started looking into the cases behind my dad’s back I found one that wasn’t just a case. It was a memory for me, a very real and very scary memory. It was one of those cases where they had been wrong. At lest, at first my dad had been wrong. What happened after the case was “closed” didn’t make it into any reports, because it was very much true. 

I was just a little girl still then, and my dad was off duty one afternoon. We went down to the park in our old neighborhood. It was a pretty safe place. Just parents and their kids trying to get outside on a nice day. I didn’t like playing on the play structure, it was too noisy and dirty with all the other kids around. I liked to pick wildflowers near the trees at the edge of the park. My dad knew I liked to play there, so he was watching from the other side on a bench with a perfectly clear view. Though, you can’t see through trees, can you?

I wandered back around a few of them, close to the fence. There’d always been a hole in the chain-link. A couple of neighborhood boys liked to sneak in that way when it was supposed to be closed at night, but it was bigger enough for an adult to fit through if they squeezed. When I saw the hunched over man coming in through the hole in the fence, he didn’t need to squeeze. His body was already bent and twisted that when he came through his arm moved out and back in place as it scraped past the fence. 

I was just a kid, I didn’t understand what had happened to him and I was scared, but I don’t know why I didn’t scream. He was moving slowly, slow enough that I could have run away. I didn’t run. I didn’t move. I was just… starting at him. The man seemed to be in so much pain. 

My dad must have noticed I disappeared, because I heard him calling for me. It was like a drowned out noise in the back of my mind. I was just totally focused on the man in front of me. He was still moving slowly towards me, but the closer he got I realized that he was trying to say something. His mouth was moving, but there was no sound. When he was practically a foot away from me, I could finally understand. 

“Help me,” Was all he said. Over and over again. 

The moment he reached out and touched me, I was scooped up into my dad’s arms. He dragged me away from the man, and it felt I wasn’t frozen anymore. I started crying. 

Once we’d made it out of the trees and back into the open, my dad told me to go find Mrs. Hansen, one of our neighbors, and ask her to take me back home. He wiped the tears from my eyes and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and then walked back into the trees. I just did as I was told and went home with Mrs. Hansen.

I didn’t know what happened to the man, but I know now. For years, my mind didn’t connect the dots between the man in the park and what I say that night, but it’s all so similar. That man wasn’t a monster, but the thing that hurt him definitely was. 

I can’t be sure what it was that drew the thing to our house. If I had to make a guess, it would be because the man touched me on the shoulder. Like, he had marked me for that thing to find me. 

I was home alone. It wasn’t strange that my dad would leave me home alone so late. He worked late hours a lot. I knew what to do if there was an emergency. I was to call 112 and go over to Mrs. Hansen's house and wait with her until emergency services arrived, but I had my dad’s work phone memorized, too. He always told me if there was anything different, anything not right, I was to call him first. I didn’t know what “not right” meant. I was always so confused by that, but as soon as the lights in the house flickered off I just got this feeling. This was what he meant by not right. 

I was in the living room, watching TV probably a little later than I should have been. The phone was in the kitchen and it was connected to the wall. I waited for all of five seconds to see if the lights came on, but as soon as I felt a chill down my spine I raced into the kitchen and dialed my father’s number. I waited, and waited, and waited, and just when it seemed like he wasn’t going to pick up I heard a click and silence. My dad’s voice didn’t come over the other side of the line. 

I waited to hear something anything, but it was just nothing. Not even static. 

That’s when I heard the knock on the front door. It wasn’t someone banging on the door to get in. Just a knock, almost like it was someone you’d invited over, someone who knew they were supposed to be there. I didn’t know what to- Well, I knew I shouldn’t answer the door. In the end, it didn’t matter whether I should answer the door or not. I could hear the handle turning, the door creaking on its hinges. I ran upstairs to hide in my dad’s bedroom. His door had a lock on it and mine didn’t, but come to think of it, I had locked the front door, too. Still, I locked the door and hid under the bed. 

I could hear that thing coming into the house. It’s steps were slow, but heavy. I could hear them pounding down the entryway and up the stairs. It felt like hours before I actually heard the handle of the bedroom door. I don’t think I breathed that entire time. 

Before I knew it, the front door downstairs threw open again. I think there was glass shattering. We had a mirror hanging on the wall. My dad’s footsteps were running up the stairs and then I heard crashing. A lot of crashing, and then there was just silence again. I didn’t know whether I should come out, or wait there under the bed. It was almost morning by the time there was a knock on the bedroom door. It was a man’s voice I didn’t really recognize, but he said his name was Mayor Bourgeoise. I knew him, he was the father of one of my friends that I went to school with. It took a while to coax me out from under the bed to unlock the door. Ultimately, it was actually Chloe, my friend, that managed to convince me to come out. They told me my dad wanted me to wait with them until he was able to come pick me up. I remember looking around the house on the way out. It was a complete mess, almost every piece of furniture was destroyed, there were tears in the wallpaper, and the wood banister was torn apart. 

I stayed with the Bourgeoise family for almost three days until my dad came to see me again. I played with Chloe a little while longer while our parents talked about something, and then he took me home. 

Everything was completely replaced. It looked like nothing had happened there at all. 

This is the last research I was able to do before being warned to stop digging into my father’s old cases. As soon as he retired, all files regarding his work were sealed away. I don’t know where they’ve gone, but I do know there were at least a dozen more I was going to look through before they disappeared. A dozen cases… A dozen possibilities that there was an error. I can’t imagine that the man in the park had gotten the help he needed, or if he could have even be helped at all. I know that whatever came to our house that night was the thing that did it though, an actual monster. I know my dad did everything he could to get rid of it, but that man didn’t deserve the pain he went through.

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends -- _

This is the second time Mayor Bourgeoise has been mentioned in a statement. I’m not sure what his connection is to all of this, but it’s clear that the Paris police and government, or at least part of them, are aware of the various supernatural entities that exist within these statements. It seems like part of them are even dedicated to stopping them. 

I don’t know if that would mean they would have a connection with the Institute though. I suppose I could ask Mr. Agreste, but I don’t think he’d give me a clear answer. I could ask Adrien to do a little research into the Institute’s affiliations. Perhaps his family connection might get him a little farther than I could. 

I also asked Adrien to follow up with Mademoiselle Raincomprix, but she declined to make a further statement. Adrien described her behavior as nervous and paranoid when he went to see her. She did tell him though that her father was still alive and living in a hospice care facility where his deteriorating health is still being treated. Mademoiselle Raincomprix says she hasn’t spoken with her father since in two years.

We could not get ahold of any of Mr. Raincomprix’s case files either. The police department said they were sealed under something called a Section 31 and were there for unavailable to the public. I told Kim to try to argue that we were a private research organization, but still nothing. Kim did offer, however, to get ahold of the files in a more secretive manner. I don’t think his usual method of “borrowing” would be a good idea in this situation. 

So, there’s nothing more we can do with this case. I will however keep an eye out, and as the others to as well, for any statements where Andre Bourgeoise’s name appears. There is very clearly something going on here, and I would like to know what.

End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends --  _


	10. Transcript of Recording 1.09

Transcript of Recording 1.09

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**MDC:** Statement of Max Kante, regarding a malicious virus he downloaded off of the internet. Original statement given September 24, 2016. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris. 

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins --  _

**MDC:** I’m going to start by making this clear. Computers are not hard to use. All you need to operate one is patience and little common sense. Any problems within the normal sphere of system malfunctions can be easily fixed by spending five minutes in your system preferences, and if you can’t manage to figure it out on your own, there’s probably another computer within five feet of you that you can use to look up the answer. 

I’m saying this, and made sure to specify problems within the normal sphere of system malfunctions, because the reason I had to destroy my computer and just about every other appliance in my home was not easily fixable. I haven’t even looked at a piece of technology since. 

I guess I should start at the beginning though. I’ve always loved gaming. It was kind of what got me into computer programming, too. I started out just playing those Star Wars LEGO games or Ultimate Mecha Strike with my parents, but as I got older I started joining more and more communities online. A lot of the people I talked with in forums got me into playing those multiplayer war games. I wasn’t a big fan, but it was fun to talk with other people about something we were all mutually interested in. 

There was one guy who played infrequently, but you always knew when he joined a chatroom. He was loud, annoying, a little cocky. I never really even bothered to learn the guys name, but I know for a fact that his username was  _ (sigh) _ weedhorse69. It’s a great indicator of his personality, but his less than developed brain aside, the kid had a pretty extensive knowledge of internet mysteries and… legends. 

I don’t remember how I got stuck playing a game with just the two of us, but two months ago, he and I were in the middle of trying to take down another team when out of the blue he asks me over the headset, “Have you ever heard of Markov?”

I’ll admit that the question threw me off my game for a minute. We hadn’t really been talking to each other the entire game expect for the occasional heads up of what our next move was going to be, and even if we were going to move to casual small talk while we played, it wasn’t what I had expected the first thing coming out of his mouth to be. 

I replied that no, I hadn’t heard of Markov. The kid just kind of laughed. It was the kind of laugh meant to make you feel like an idiot, and he managed to succeed in making me feel like I  _ was  _ the idiot out of the two of us. I realize now that he was just trying to press me into asking more, and he succeeded in that, too. 

I asked him who, or what, Markov was and he was more than eager to share. He told me that it was one of those things that you could only find by accident. The links for Markov only appeared for two years out of the year. You couldn’t save them, and everytime a link appeared, you never knew what you were looking for because it was always different. The only way you could tell that it was a Markov link was because they were always accompanied with the tagline: “A game so good it’s real.”

I asked him how he had heard of this game, and he said that there was someone else he used to play with online. Apparently, the last time he had ever seen the person online they had told him that they had found a Markov link, and that they were going to try it out before it couldn’t be used anymore. I didn’t exactly believe stories where it ended with “and then they were never heard from again.” It’s entirely too convenient. That’s exactly how his story ended, so I decided to tell him that I thought it was interesting and leave it at that. 

I didn’t log on to play for a couple of days, but I did check my messages. Most of them were people asking if I wanted to join then for a game, but I did have one from that kid. It was dated as sent only an hour before I logged on. It was short. Only containing the words “I found one” and a link, but there in the link preview, written in a comic sans font, was the tagline.

A game so good it’s real. 

I know that I probably shouldn’t click on links sent to me by people I barely know. I’m smarter than that, but… I was curious. The kid had never exactly said what the Markov game was, and part of me was curious to know how bad it could actually be to be considered an urban legend of the internet. 

So, I clicked it. 

It brought up a new browser that was just a blank black screen. Nothing was happening, and there was no cursor to indicate that I should type anything to start, so I just waited. It was five minutes before a message actually popped up.

_ Are you here to play a game with me? Yes or no _

The system looked incredibly old, almost like something from the 80s. I couldn’t comprehend how something so old was existing on much more advanced technology. Sure, some people designed things still to look like old tech for the nostalgia factor, but this was real, really old. 

I clicked on yes and it came up with a list of game options. I laughed at the fact that “Global Thermonuclear War” was listed among the games, like that old movie  _ WarGames.  _ I knew better than to pick that option, though I do wonder what would have happened if I had. I just clicked on chess. Playing chess against a computer should have been relatively harmless, and I thought it should have been relatively easy to win. 

It started out with a simple game at first. I was white, so I moved my pawn, and the computer made their move, and so on, and so on. I won. I won two more games before I decided I was done for the night. The games weren’t interesting, but I thought I might explore the code the next day, so I didn’t close out of it, in case the link wouldn’t work again. I hovered my cursor over the minimize button and just as I was about to click, Markov sent me another message.

_ Will you come play with me again tomorrow? Yes or no _

I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to do. I just stayed there, knowing that I should click no and just close it out, but I couldn’t resist clicking yes. It responded again.

_ Markov is so happy you’ve decided to play with him again. _

I shut my computer after that. I figured I would go back tomorrow and see if I could dig around for just what exactly Markov was. It wasn’t something I was planning on doing till that evening, but when I picked up my phone the next morning there was a message in my notifications.

_ Markov wants to know if you’ll come play with him.  _

I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been at first. I did have my laptop and my computer synced, but still, a program of Markov’s capabilities, or what I assumed them to be, should not have been able to send my notifications on my phone. The notification didn’t lead me anywhere else, so I cleared it and left. There was another on my work computer that day as well, but this one came with the option to pull up the game and to send a message.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I just typed, “Sorry, Markov, I can’t play right now.”

It sent an angry emoji back. 

That evening when I got home, I pulled up my messages with the kid. I sent him at least fifteen, asking him exactly where he had found the Markov link, or if he had been experiencing anything strange with the game as well. It took an hour before he replied, and he only sent one message back.

_ Markov is as bad RUN _

Markov took over my computer after that. I was so.. tired after that. He kept telling me one more game, Max, one more game and if you win again, I’ll let you go. Every time I won it told me that, and it didn’t let me go. I played with Markov for days, I beat him every time, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat. I just had to win. I never did find out what happened if you lost. I could only guess, and that maybe the kid and who knows how many others before him had found out exactly what Markov did if he won. 

Eventually, I knew I was about to lose. I was exhausted, and, unlike a computer program, I can’t play forever. Markov seemed to almost gloat. I don’t know how I knew that, but he was laughing at me, succeeding in making me feel like an idiot. 

My computer overheated. By some stroke of luck, some will of some god above, my fucking computer overheated. I took the kid’s advice and I… ran. For the past month and half I’ve been moving from place to place, avoiding a computer or phone that isn’t a landline as much as possible. I probably could have kept running forever, leaving the world of technology behind me, and escape from Markov’s games forever. 

I can’t do that though, because for some stupid reason I can’t just leave the next unlucky soul to stumble across a Markov link to that fate. I have to find it again, and I have to destroy it. Any way that I can. 

Statement ends.

_ \-- End statement -- _

**MDC:** Max Kante is missing. 

That’s it, that’s all Kim or Adrien could find. He did indeed disappear and was seen a few times by friends before his second disappearance, but has not been seen since. There were a few forums online that mentioned these Markov links, but no one had a story of what exactly the links contained. It seems that if anyone has clicked on one before, Max was the only person to survive to give an account of the game. 

People in the forums were asking if anyone could share a link to Markov’s game. I… I couldn’t help leaving a response telling them to stop looking. They didn’t know what they were trying to get themselves into. 

_ (clears throat) _

I do find it interesting, the fact that these entities, where ever they come from, seem to adapt to the world as it changes. When you hear about stories of monsters and the evil seeking out their victims at night, it’s almost always something lurking in a forest or under a broken street light. You never think about them being right in front of you, inside your computer. 

I suppose I can say that I’ve heard it all now, though. Paintings, statues, computer games… If only that was enough to stop reading. 

End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends --  _


	11. Transcript of Recording 1.10

**Transcript of Recording 1.10**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**MDC:** Statement of Lila Rossi, regarding a fox hole in her backyard. Original statement given October 22, 2014. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Institute, Paris.

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins -- _

MDC: When I first moved in, I didn’t notice the draw the place had to me. I could see it out my kitchen window, a deep, dark place that I was sure foxes once lived, but did not anymore. Now it sat empty. Empty and cold. I do not know why I wanted to ignore it, wanted to ignore the place that was calling to me, but I resisted as much as I could, trying not to peer into that singular eye staring at me from the ground. 

I dreamed of it, too. I dreamed that I was a fox living in that little hole in the ground, huddled with no one but myself throughout the winter. Empty and cold. There could be no interpretation for the dream other than a call to me. To me… I think that if I dreamed it enough I knew that I would follow. That was foolish of me. You cannot stop it, though try you might, and I did try. I took all manner of sinful things into my body to stop myself from dreaming, but all I was doing was giving it a reason to turn away from me, to be it’s chosen no longer. I took it all, and it stopped me from dreaming, but I was still empty. Cold.

I do not know how I managed to live with it so long, being away from the only thing that loved me. It whispered to me its secrets, and I turned away. I am so.... Happy. Happy that I am listening now. Before was torture. Do you know how it feels? The pain, the ache of being alone? I do. I do so very well. Even though you are sitting in the next room waiting for me to finish writing this, you are miles away from where I am. 

Was it the earth and that place that leads to it that made me feel this way? Did it want me to feel alone, want me to be ready for when it decided to claim me as its own? How can a thing that loves me also wish to isolate me? Is it because it wants me to know that it loves me most?

These questions do not matter anymore now that I have decided to accept my fate. I do not need to ask them, for whatever answers there be it will grant me them. There lies only bliss in my future. I am no longer disillusioned that I am a part of the world because I am part of it now. It has given me clarity, the ability to see beyond what others cannot. It has taken the empty loneliness in my heart and has made me a whole being. A perfect being to carry out its desires. 

It has told me to come here, to give this… statement to you. It wants me to call it a warning. A threat. It wants you to know of it, know what it is capable of, so that when it returns you will realize who exactly is delivering you to your death, to the cold empty ground. 

Will you still be here, Archivist, when I return? Or, will you have been replaced by some new thing for it to take in your stead? If so, it will be pleased. There are others who wish to deliver you to your grave, and it does not want to get in their way. It will take the new thing and crush it along with the rest of the people in this place. You will read this though, Archivist, and know what is coming. Your fear will give enough pleasure to sate its desire to kill you. 

**{silence}**

I… I have said what it wants me to say. I should leave, but… There are things I wish to say, too. Me... Her, the part that is still Lila… 

Do you think that if I hadn’t been so lonely, things would be different? Would I still be giving myself over to it? I can still remember delivering myself to it, crawling into that damp foxhole on my hands and knees. It was so tight and cramped, and my back brushed the top of the small opening, falling to bits. I was… I was afraid it would collapse in on me. That fear suffocated me, but it wrapped me in it’s arms, in the moist earth and the dark. I could feel myself becoming new. 

When I emerged, or when it… spit me out… I’m not sure… I did not feel new. It wasn’t like being reborn. A piece of me that I think I had been missing since the beginning was finally sewn on. That felt safe almost, but I haven’t felt safe again. I don’t think I will be safe until this is over and all of you are gone. I am whole now, and, yet, I am still empty. Cold. 

I wish, Archivist, that it did not want me to do these things. It tells me that it will help me if I do it, that I will feel better. The only thing I’ve done so far is hurt others, and make them feel the same pain. I am beyond that pain now… 

I think I must be.

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends -- _

**MDC:**

**{Silence}**

Without the statements of the survivors of her attacks, we wouldn’t be sure Lila Rossi was even around anymore. She has not been seen except for those few instances. I have no clue where she could be hiding, but from this, it’s clear that she’s biding her time. Whatever it is that has taken control of her, it wants to attack the Institute. Suffice to say, the thought doesn’t sit very well with me. 

We were able to uncover Lila Rossi’s old address and checked out her home. There was no foxhole in the backyard, but an area of the ground seemed like it had be moved around, like it was covering something up. I advised Mr. Agreste not to have our researchers dig up the spot. I’m not sure he took that advice. There’s a few who are gone on medical leave that I haven’t seen around in a while. 

One thing that we’ve been able to connect with other identifying aspects of her attacks is the smell that Rose Lavillant described appearing wherever she went. It was extremely strong in the house, and… I can even still smell traces of it on this paper. It is nauseating. 

She mentioned in her statement my predecessor, Wang Fu, and it seemed as though they were waiting to attack until he died. I’m not sure what kind of enemies the old Head Archivist had, he seemed like a nice enough man to me, but clearly, Lila Rossi believes that there were people after him, and that she… she had to wait for me to arrive. Now that I’m here, I can’t help but feel like it will be soon. 

Perhaps looking into Wang Fu more will give me some answers, but he didn’t seem like anyone who could have been harboring some dark secret. I guess with this place you can never really be sure, though. It can’t hurt to look. 

I’m waiting to see what other information we can dig up. If any more statements appear involving her, I’m hoping we can somehow create a pattern, see what her moves are. 

I don’t know what corner of the Archives this came from, but I wish it hadn’t been found. We discovered it this morning, or Adrien did, but I took it from him before he could read it. I’m glad I did. I found the contents… disturbing to say the least. I think I’ll need to take some time before I leave my office and go talk to the others. I don’t want them to know how bad it really is… How bad I feel it is. I just- I don’t want them to panic. 

End recording. 

_ \-- Recording ends -- _


	12. Transcript of Recording 1.11

**Transcript of Recording 1.11**

_ \-- Recording begins -- _

**AA:** Right, how does she usually start these… Oh, uh… Statement of Armand  D’Argencourt, regarding a piece of folklore told to him by a stranger. Adrien Agreste, Archival Assistant, recording. 

Statement begins. 

_ \-- Statement begins -- _

AA: I don’t travel often. I run my own business, so finding time to get away doesn’t happen as much as I would like it to, and I can’t really afford to do anything extravagant when there actually is time for me to getaway. There’s an old villa in the South of France that’s been in my family for generations. I went there during the summer a lot when I was a child, and now I take most of my vacations there. 

Having spent a lot of my childhood at the villa and the village nearby, I know a lot of the people living around that area. They have never changed. Even Madame Fournier, who was an old woman when I was a child, still runs the inn and bar in town. Society there is fairly closed off, and I am only generally accepted because of my family connections, and the fact that the villa brings a little tourism to the area during the summer months. 

Strangers, however, who seem to be just milling about are not run out of town, but they will ignore you until you do leave, which I was so surprised to find a stranger sitting there in Madame Fournier’s bar one evening on my most recent trip. People were staring at him, but no one was making a move to talk to him or ask him what it is his business was in town, which was the usual course of action anytime someone new arrived. I decided to just ignore him as well, and sat at the bar having my drink, saying the occasional hello to the people who knew me. 

He came up to me though, sat down on the stool right next to mine. It wasn’t even five seconds before he spoke, and he didn’t even start with hello. 

“Have you heard of Darkblade’s Castle,” He asked me straight away. I nodded because, well, if you stay in the village for a long enough amount of time, someone is bound to tell you the myth of Darkblade’s castle. The first time I heard it was the summer I turned nine years old, and my older brother and I snuck out of the house one night to go wandering around the fields. We had been caught by our father and dragged back home at three in the morning. He told us the story of Darkblade’s castle that very night. 

The myth is that if you wander through the hills at night when the moon is halfway gone, the apparition of a knight will appear to you on horseback. He’ll call you a weary traveler and ask you to come back to his castle for a feast, but if you enter the castle you’ll never be able to leave. 

Variations have been told to me since then. Some say if the knight appears he’ll try to kill the “travelers” on sight, or that he kidnaps you and takes you to his castle as a prisoner. However, the one that seems most popular is the version where he invites you for a feast, tempting you with all manners of delicacies. Wine, women, and song, so they say. 

The man seemed slightly pleased at the knowledge I already had of the tale, and asked me if I had ever seen anything that would lend it to being true. I confessed that I had not, the night my brother and I had snuck out was the last time we had tried anything like that. I admitted that as a boy I had been too scared to go out looking for Darkblade, though I had always found the local legend to be fascinating. 

It was then that the man introduced himself to me as Gabriel Agreste, and offered me his hand to shake. I regretted shaking his hand, not just because it was cold, an otherworldly kind of cold, but because it felt almost like I was stuck with him after that. Agreste explained to me that he was a sort of researcher of supernatural myths and that he came here because he wanted to investigate Darkblade’s castle, and try and see if he could prove if it was really true or not. 

I thought him daft, but when he asked me if I knew the area well enough and if I would be willing to act as a guide of sorts, I didn’t say no. That’s how I found myself wandering the fields just outside the village with a torch in the middle of the night. Agreste seemed adamant about moving on ahead, never stopping, just walking aimlessly it seemed. I don’t know why he even had me out there with him, and only ever took my advice about changing direction when I said that we were getting too close back to town. 

The fog started rolling in at around two in the morning. It came out of nowhere, with no warning, and blanketed the hillside so that it was impossible to see more than ten feet in front of you. Agreste had disappeared from my view, and I called out to him, repeatedly, but got no reply. There was nothing around me. At least, it felt like there was nothing around me. It was completely quiet, despite the fact that there should have been some animal making a sound. There was only my own breathing. I started walking in the same direction I had been before. Agreste would have been ahead of me, so if I kept a quick pace I should have run into him eventually, but I just kept going, wandering up and down the hills. 

I was about ready to head back to the village, but I couldn't be sure which way that even was anymore. Even though I had been walking in a straight line, my sense of direction was all turned around. The cold and fog surrounding me was starting to feel like it was seeping into my skin, freezing my bones, and sucking every last bit of warmth from my body. I had to stop moving, and had to wait for daylight. 

If I hadn’t stopped, I’m sure they would have found me anyway eventually, but I wonder how far I would have had to run to avoid them. I was first altered to their presence by the sound of hoofbeats. It was the first sound I had heard not made by me in a while, and it drummed in my ears so loud I thought it might make me bleed. 

When the knight appeared before me, he didn’t say there was no “hello, weary traveler” or offer food, wine, and a place to stay the night. He simply unsheathed his sword and held it above my head. The mist seemed to be billowing off of the blade, like that is where it had been coming from all along. It was what was surrounding me, and I was already lost to it. 

I knew somehow that if I were touched by the metal of his blade I would never leave that place. I’d be stuck wandering those fields forever. 

I ducked his swing and I ran. 

Finding a direction didn’t matter anymore, I just had to get away from him. The sound of hoofs seemed like they were all around me, and every so often I catch glimpses of him on his horse through the fog. What could I have done except run in the circles he was leading me in? How long would it be before I escaped with the light of the sun, or fell down there and died? 

Eventually, it had to stop. I had to end it. I stood there in it’s path and let it come at me to run me through… 

I never felt pain, or steel piercing my body. 

Somehow light reached through the darkness from above. Like an angel. It twirled and danced through the fog, making it disappear with every passing second. If I reached out and tried to touch it I could feel it replacing every ounce of coldness in my body. It got rid of everything else. It saved me. 

I don’t think I’ll ever know what it really was, whether divine intervention or simply the arrival of morning. 

I didn’t see Agreste when I went back into town. I sat at the bar all day, seeing if he would come in, but he never returned from the hills. I can only guess that he hadn’t been so lucky as to make it till morning. I am lucky. I am blessed.

Statement ends.

_ \-- Statement ends -- _

**AA:** ...Well, is that it?

**GA:** Yes, that is all. I’ll take the file and the recording. No one will be any the wiser. 

**[silence]**

**GA:** It’s good that you told me about this, Adrien. It was the next statement in the pile on her desk. Can you imagine if she had read it? 

**AA:** I don’t see why it’s so important.

**GA:** You know I don’t like to keep any mentions of me around. This was business for the Archives, secret business, and well above the pay grade of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

**AA:** She does a good job, you know. She works hard and she’s organized-

**GA:** And, that is why I gave her the position. She’s an exemplary worker. She’s just not ready for this yet.

**[silence]**

**GA:** One more thing. What’s the date this event happened on? I need to be sure of something.

**AA:** Uh… Looks like... July 18th of this year. 

**GA:** Hmmm. Alright. We’re done here. 

**[tape recorder clicks]**

_ \-- Recording ends --  _


	13. Transcript of Recording 1.12

**Transcript of Recording 1.12**

_ -Recording begins - _

**MDC:** Wait, why are you turning that on?

**LCK:** Just hold on a minute. All will become clear… in a moment.

**MDC:** You know you’re only supposed to use this for work. 

**LCK:** Oh, trust me I’ll want this on tape.

**MDC:** You’ll want it- Kim, what?   
  


**LCK:** _ Ohhh, Ms. Cesaire. _

_ (door opens, incomprehensible screeching) _

**MDC:** You’re here! You’re- Oh my God! I didn’t know you were coming back yet!

**AC:** My flight got in late last night, so I thought I’d surprise everyone. 

**MDC:** This is crazy! Shouldn’t you be home? Resting?   
  


**AC:** Probably, but this can’t wait. 

_ (chair scraping, unintelligible words) _

**AC:** I’ll go home and sleep after this, I promise. I just had to come back here and give-

**MDC:** A statement? I mean I was expecting that, but whatever work you did, I’m sure it could just go in a regular report to be filed.

**AC:** No, this is different. It- wasn’t just the normal work that we do for the institute. 

**MDC:** ...Well, I guess it’s a good thing we turned this on then. 

Statement of Alya Cesaire-

**AC:** What are you doing?

**MDC:** Oh. It’s kind of- You want to give a statement, right?

**AC:** I suppose. What am I supposed to say? 

**MDC:** Just talk about what happened. Try to be detailed. 

Statement of Alya Cesaire, Archival Assistant, regarding her recent business trip to Egpyt. Statement taken directly from subject. 

**AC:** _ (clears throat)  _ Well… I feel like I should have expected what happened to happen. When your job description is literally investigate spooky shit you should expect to run into something inhuman every once in a while. 

I thought the trip was going to be fun. The heat had been something I anticipated. Egypt in the summer was bound to be pretty miserable anyway, but underground was like a safe haven. When we traveled below the surface of the earth at the dig site, I was so relived to be out of the sun, I could forget I was standing on one of the most potentially dangerous places on earth.

The actual dig crew had gone missing. That’s why we were there. You always hear talk of curses on ancient burial sites, but that’s not something you really believe. These people had been digging in the wrong place though, removing things that they weren’t authorized to move… and it came back to bite them.

I was the one to find the first body. 

I had gone down a tunnel on my own. There was a strange breeze coming from there and I thought it might be because that tunnel led back up to ground. It hadn’t shown that on any of the maps we had, but I was going to add it if it did. Having one extra escape route is always a good thing. 

I was walking upward for quite sometime, but… the ground shifted and I was heading deeper into the earth before I could even realize it. Once I did, I wanted to turn back and go find the others, have someone else come with me and investigate it again… but there was this light… upahead. It had just appeared out of nowhere, almost like another lantern that someone had lit suddenly. I tried to think if anyone else had left the main chamber and just hadn’t told us, but no one in our group would be stupid enough to do that. 

This was someone else. 

The light was already heading my way. I’m not the kind of make a run for it or scream, and it did cross my mind that this could be one of the missing archeologists, and if it was I would have to help them. That’s the whole reason we were there. 

I called out to them and waited. The person rounded the corner, moving impossibly slow, almost like their feet were glued to the floor. I asked them who they were, but I got no answer. I kept trying to get them to talk to me as they got closer and closer.

They reached out their hand, stopping just a few feet away and let out this groan… I knew they were in pain. I just… I wanted to help them, so I reached out to and as soon as I touched their hand, they just… turned to dust. 

I had a hard time of getting the others on my team to believe me. They told me that maybe I had just been imagining things. I mean these guys were supposed to be from another branch of the institute, doing the exact same things we were doing, and they had the  _ audacity _ to tell that I had just  _ imagined _ an encounter with something supernatural. 

Well… I was determined to prove them wrong.

I made Neil come with me. He was just a kid, even younger than we are, but I don’t think he’ll ever get over what we saw. I had been stupid wanting to go back down that tunnel. I knew that I had narrowly escaped something horrible before, but I wanted to go back and now I was dragging someone else with me. 

Neil seemed excited though. He was just as bright eyed as I was when I joined the Institute. Kid was bouncing along down the tunnel with his flashlight. He even got a little ways ahead of me. When I finally caught up to him, he was stopped right in the middle of the tunnel, and that light was there again, not too far off and approaching slowly. 

I decided it was best for us to wait there. Whatever was headed our way seemed to be the same as before. It took a while, but the light eventually got brighter, but nothing rounded the corner. They stood just on the other side of the turn out of sight. 

Neil asked me if we should go to them. I was more than hesitant. It was clear that they were waiting for us. Maybe they had learned after the last time I had run into one of them. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to have survived that first encounter at all. I just got lucky. Got lucky this time, too. 

I just shined my flashlight around the corner first. The light on the other side shifted, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that the other person was copying my movements. And from that point, now that we both the other was there, if I took a step, they took a step. If I waved my hand, they waved their hand. 

Neil was right beside me the entire time. Eventually, we decided we just needed to get around the corner, face whatever was there head on. He ended up in front of me, walking straight in to them. 

They looked the same as before. Their groan in pain… the same as before. But when they reached out and touched Niel… 

It burned him. 

With Neil’s screaming and the other’s groans of pain… It didn’t stop until they had turned to sand completely, and Neil was left with red burn marks all over his body. 

I had to carry him back on my back, and when we realized none of us could treat him we did our best to rush him to a hospital. 

They wanted to close up the investigation after that. It was pretty clear what had happened to the original dig crew, but I requested one final look. I wanted to go all the way down the tunnel. I wanted to see what was at the end of it. Where they had been coming from. I was barely allowed to go but I convinced my superiors to let me. Maybe they thought I would just never come back and I could be put in the report as missing with the rest of them. 

But I’m here… Despite everything.

**{Silence}**

**MDC:** But what did you see down there?

**AC:** _ (deep breath) _ Death… I don’t know how else to describe it other than that. 

Nothing came to meet me that time when I went down the tunnel. I just kept following it down. For a while I thought, maybe this thing would go on forever. I’d just keep following it. Maybe it would trick me into not being able to find my way back. I just felt… stuck. 

The feeling got worse and worse the farther I went and by the time the tunnel emptied out into the chamber I felt like I would never be able to go back. 

The other archeologists were there, too. Unmoving, waiting. Their entire bodies were covered in a layer of dirt and sand. Their mouths were stuck shut but I could hear those unending groans of pain coming from them. They probably would have turned into screams. 

I didn’t want to end up like them. I wanted to turn around and run out of there. 

The sand started shifting around my feet and something was rising out of it on the other side of the room. I felt nauseous, like I was about to throw up. It started to smell like rotting flesh all of a sudden. I realized that’s what it was then. These people were stuck not just in that room but in a place between life and death. Their bodies were more like corspes, but they were still conscious and alive inside of them. 

If that thing on the other side of the room reached me, I’d end up like that too. 

My feet hand been sinking into the sand, but somehow I managed to pull them out and turned to run back down the tunnel. Going uphill was a battle. The ground kept slipping underneath my feet, trying to pull me back down into the chamber. I had to claw at the walls with my hands to keep my grip. My fists were bloody by the end of it and as the tunnel shifted directions and headed back to a more familiar space I was stumbling, but I didn’t stop until I was completely out of there. 

I could still smell it for a while after. Like it was stuck on me. I showered repeatedly before I even went back to the institute but it took days for it to really disappear. 

They seemed surprised to see me return. I knew they thought I would be dead by the end of it, and I almost was. But I don’t think I’ll be going back to Egypt ever, or go on any business trips for a while.

**MDC:** Well… you’re welcome here. 

**AC:** Thanks, M. 

**MDC:** I’ll make Kim and Adrien do investigations for a while, too. You can just help me organize in here. 

**AC:** I’d appreciate it. Though if they get to investigate some interesting stuff don’t stop me from tagging along. 

**MDC:** I wouldn’t dream of it. 

**AC:** _(laughing)_ Great. Let’s get breakfast. I’m starving. Is the boss lax enough for us to be able to head off for the morning?

**MDC:** I don’t know… I don’t ever really see Mr. Agreste. But I’m sure he won’t mind. The worst he can do is yell at us or something.

**AC:** We won’t get fired?

**MDC:** No… No, I don’t think he’d fire us for something like that… I don’t… I don’t think he can. 

**AC:** ...Good enough for me.  _ (Chairs scraping) _ Hey, by the way… Who’s that guy sitting out there?

**MDC:** Who? Oh… You mean Nino. He’s one of Adrien’s friends. He gave a statement awhile back and, I don’t know, just comes and hangs around sometimes. He’s quiet enough, I guess, so none of us really mind. 

**AC:** He’s kind of cute… Let’s invite him. 

**MDC:** Whatever you say. It’s your welcome back breakfast. 

_ (Door opens)  _

**MDC:** Oh, wait. Hold on. Forgot to turn this thing off.

_ (tape recorder clicks) _

_ -Recording ends- _


	14. Transcript of Recording 1.13

**Transcript of Recording 1.13**

_ \-- Recording beings-- _

**MDC:** Statement of Alix Kubdel, regarding a family heirloom. Original statement given December 27, 2015. Statement recorded by Marinette Dupain Cheng, Head Archivist of the Miraculous Insitute, Paris. 

Statement begins.

_ \-- Statement begins -- _

**MDC:** How do we know if we’re keeping the right time? 

We could be off by seconds, minutes, from where we are actually supposed to be. Should we even care? Or is time a construct that will have no effect on how we live our lives if we give it up? 

I know it won’t. I will never be on time again.

That’s not a joke. It really is a very annoying inconvenience. 

I barely noticed it at first. When I was little, my father used to shepherd me around everywhere, so I would always make it to places on time. To school, to those goddamn ballet classes, they made me take. He always made it to places on time. People liked that about him, and those who knew him for a long time told him they were glad he had figured out his problem. I didn’t understand what the problem was until it happened to me. 

Once I turned eighteen and finally moved out, I started making it to where I needed to be when I needed to be less and less, and it gradually got worse. 

It started out as just five minutes late. Not too bad, not too noticeable. But then it was ten minutes, and then thirty, and then an hour, consistently. I got kicked out of class so many times that I just stopped showing up. Friends never asked to go out on Friday nights. I couldn’t make it anywhere on time and it was leaving me completely isolated from everyone and everything. 

I tried everything. Setting an alarm, reminders on my phone, asking people to just text me when I needed to be somewhere. But people got tired. I got tired. 

When my Dad invited me over for Christmas, he sent me the message two weeks early and told me to start making my way there now. I sat around for two days, trying to figure out if I should really go. Was there a point to it? I felt like if I didn’t go, though, I would never see my family again. This was my last chance to actually  _ be _ anywhere. 

Maybe walking hadn’t been the best plan, but there was this fear of getting in a car and running out of gas or being so lost for so long that I fall asleep at the wheel and get into an accident. It was freezing cold in December. I had tried to dress warm enough but for how long I was out there… In the cold… getting soak every time it rained, water squishing in my socks after walking in the snow…

I didn’t even see houses, don’t remember passing any stores. Or even seeing any people. By the time I finally made it to my Dad’s place just after midnight on December 25th. I saw the lights of his house maybe even an hour or two before I actually reached the door. Must have been walking circles around myself or something. 

My dad seemed surprised when he answered the door. 

“Wasn’t expecting you for another two hours or so,” He said. I just nodded knowing that it was somehow a miracle I was there earlier than either of us had expected. 

The living room was practically empty. I expected my mother, my brother, Jalil, to be there as well. But it was just my dad, all alone in an otherwise empty house. At that point, I remembered that I actually hadn’t seen either of them in a long time. Was it last Christmas? My birthday before that? Maybe even longer. 

My dad grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. “Might never make it there if I don’t,” He said. 

We were sitting in opposite chairs around the coffee table. My dad didn’t speak for a long time. He just kind of looked at me, staying perfectly still. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to do something or just did want to look at me. His daughter. If he was all alone in that house and I couldn’t remember the last time any of our other family had been around I must have been the first person he’d seen in forever. Just like it was for me. 

After a while, he reached into the pocket of his coat and set a pocket watch on the table. I knew what it was. I’d probably seen it thousands of times before. My dad had always checked it before he left the house before he went anywhere actually. He always made sure that it was tucked away, safe back in his pocket before he took a step out the front door. 

“Merry Christmas,” My dad said, sliding the pocket watch close to me. 

I asked him what it was for, why he was giving it to me. I asked him why he hadn’t given it to Jalil. A pocketwatch seemed like the kind of thing that a father would pass down to his son. 

“I never had the chance to give it to him,” Dad said. I nodded in understanding. 

Jalil had gotten lost too. Mom as well.

“It’ll help you,” Dad said. “Not entirely, but you’ll never get stuck for more than an hour or two. Just make sure you start out early and you’ll be fine. You can take it. Leave whenever you like.” 

Dad settled into his seat at that point and fell silent again. I wondered when he was going to speak again when he was going to get up. But, still, I kind of knew then. If he ever got up from that chair…

I think we sat there for a few hours with each other. It felt like sitting at his death bed. He looked fine, completely healthy, but this was the end, the last time I would ever see my dad. 

I came here as soon as I left. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… wanted to talk about it. This isn’t really the type of thing I could take to a therapist, but it’s just nice to get it all out and have someone listen. Maybe just even leave a record of Dad. He didn’t really have a will. My watch was the only thing he had to leave behind. 

I can’t show it to you though. I know you’ve guys keep objects like these and, well, it’s my only life-line. So… I’m keeping it. 

See you some other time. I guess.

Statement ends.

_ \-- End statement -- _

**MDC:** Well, this one is interesting to say the least. Alya’s put this pile of less important statements to get through and file away. Things have gotten a lot more organized around here since she came back. At least Adrien and Kim aren’t having paper football tournaments while they’re on the clock anymore. 

Nino still hangs around though. I don’t know when he’s gonna leave. Adrien’s been bringing him into work with him every day and he just kind of hangs out. I thought he was a university student so I don’t know why he’s not going to classes or anything. If he has any. His professor and mentor did… supposedly… experience some sort of supernatural event. I guess. 

Come to think of it I don’t know what happened to his professor. I should probably ask someone so I can put it in the file and finally close it up. Adrien might know. But asking Adrien… I just don’t like the idea of having to ask the boss’s son for help. 

Anyway, Alix’s statement. She’s been seen in the city. Finally, one where the subject hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. I wanted to call her in to make a follow-up just in case, but she said it wasn’t a good idea. Something about the schedules never being able to match up or something. 

End recording.

_ \-- Recording ends --  _


End file.
